Daddy Carbucks

People always say to me, "How can I make the perfect cup of coffee?" And I have to break the bad news: One does not make the perfect cup. One tries to become the kind of person who is worthy of attendance at the elaborate ritual known as the perfect cup of coffee. This isn't amateur hour. Frankly, some people may never have a knack for it. Try juice, is my advice. Stick to the safe fluids.

But I'll share a few hints. First off, the perfect cup of coffee is not a substance but an event, one that usually happens first thing in the morning. Cups later in the day are often tarnished by distractions. The serious coffee drinker anticipates the first cup of the morning with something very much like lust. As you're making the coffee, you find yourself whispering, "Baby, you're so hot."

Obviously, the perfect cup of coffee begins with exquisite coffee beans. You mustn't buy pre-ground coffee, any more than you would buy food that has already been chewed. Remember when buying beans to specify not only the country of origin and the type of roast, but also the socioeconomic condition of the coffee workers. I always buy French Roast Papua New Guinea Fair Trade Socialist Collective, though I'm still trying to find it in decaf.

Some people buy green coffee beans and roast them at home, but if you're really serious, you should grow your own plants. It can add some time to the process, however, and my children hate it when I wake them at 3 in the morning to start the harvest.

Once you have the whole beans, you must "grind" them, a word whose brutality gives me shivers. We love the bean and want to treat it humanely. Its molecular genius, however, can be liberated only if the bean is disintegrated. Blade grinders burn the coffee; for just a few thousand dollars you can buy special coffee grinders that lovingly break the beans into tiny pieces. I like to smash the beans with a hammer. When my neighbors hear loud hammering before dawn, they know another great cuppa joe is on the way.

You can't use tap water to make coffee (that's hardly better than using gasoline or meat drippings). The water must be filtered or bottled, or, ideally, manufactured by chemists in the form of H3O (the extra hydrogen atom gives the coffee a pleasant nutty taste).

Next comes the apparatus by which the coffee is prepared. I am not a big fan of "Mr. Coffee," for reasons of gender discrimination. And I loathe any coffee maker that is too much of a contraption; it shouldn't look as though it doubles as a device for detecting radon in your basement. All you really need is a technique for allowing water that's nearly boiling to consort with fresh grinds. Many purists make "cowboy coffee," in which they add the grinds to a pan of hot water, swirl it around for a minute, and start drinking and eating the resulting mixture. Another term for cowboy coffee is "chewy coffee."

I have gone a step further and experimented with a technique in which I place dry grounds in my mouth -- really pack it in there, the way a barista loads an espresso filter basket -- and then slowly sip scalding water. It's dangerous and messy, but if you were able to speak you'd say, "That is coffee."

Let us stipulate that, by hook or crook, you find some method of producing a cup of coffee that meets your specifications for excellence. But wait: It's still not the perfect cup. You need to work on location. In the right place, even the sludge from the hot plate at Exxon can be sublime. Great coffee is 1/10 chemistry, 9/10 environment.

I often go to Carbucks. The great thing about Carbucks is that, in addition to the fact that you're the sole proprietor and barista, a new location opens up anywhere you decide to park.

After making my coffee one recent Sunday morning, I drove to a small park that overlooks the Potomac River and decided that it was an excellent Carbucks. I brought a fine novel. The first rays of sun struck the bare trees on the bluff across the river. I drank the coffee. Spectacular!

As the caffeine worked its way through my veins, the philosophy neurons woke up. The notion arose that the river emerges from deep time, that it is older than human civilization, that everything we have ever accomplished is but a brief conceit. That we're just little people, living on a tiny planet in an eye blink of time. How intimidating! How scary! How could we possibly claim any significance in such a vast cosmos?

I consume only genetically modified beans grown on a remote island near Venezuela. I use a French press, which makes what is essentially "cowboy coffee" with the chewier bits removed. I pour the brew into a large ceramic container originally intended for Vietnamese soup. I embrace the vessel for a few minutes and allow the caffeine to leach directly into my fingertips. Eventually the foreplay ends, and I take a deep sip. My systolic pressure spikes. My forehead tightens. I am close to God. Then, and only then, am I safe to approach.

An acquaintance of mine (I hesitate to use the term "friend", because he's a Hunter S. Thompson-style, brook-no-nonsense and take-no-prisoners kinda guy) holds precisely four things sacred. Late-night alcohol consumption, early-morning coffee consumption, honestly earning enough money somehow to pay for the first two items, and (above all) telling (painfully, searingly) funny stories about the processes involved in the first three items.

This approach to life hasn't been especially kind to him or those close to him, but I'm glad to have had him in my life. Here's to ya, John!*@#!

The fine citizens of San Antone were eatin' fire and spittin' smoke on Thurday after the Express-News printed on the front page that there would be no gravy on Friday morning at the 28th annual Cowboy Breakfast. The gobble-down of breakfast tacos, eggs, brisket, sausage wraps, and biscuits kicks off the Stock Show and Rodeo every year.

The reason for the withdrawal--that gravy's messy and people could slip and fall, and that's it's difficult to eat biscuits with one hand while standin' up and holding cowboy coffee in the other. The 60,000 who attend the event got worked up into a firestorm, madder than fogged fire ants. They were mad enough to put something on the festival organizers that Ajax won' take off.

Not that those who attend the breakfast are real goat ropers or Wranglerettes. Actually, most folks'd get throwed by a good rocking chair and couldn't even ride a good charley horse. In fact the breakfast occurs before the sun has rise, and some people's hair is so messy it looks like they combed it with a skillet. Some of them pretend buckaroo's Stetsons are bigger than portable feed bags, too.

But after 20 years they'd be hurtin' for gravy if it was to be taken away. They picked up their phones and cussed a lot, in fact, they were clamorin' so hard for the white peppered gravy they ran a string of profanity so hot it woulda fried bacon.

Ater a stampede of complaints, the organizers changed their minds faster than s six-legged jackrabbit can run. They rounded up gravy boats and more barrels (for trash) than'll hold the oil in Saudi 'Rabia.

There was a big front-page piece in the paper today that gravy had circled back onto the menu, running with the headline, "Good Gravy!" It jus' goes to show that when it comes to good eatin' it's hard to buck old habits.

Of course, the op-ed page today laughed hearty like a double-jawed hyena at the lobbyin' effort. The ink slinger wished that San Antone folks would lock horns with and give government officials the same kind of woodshed lecture when it comes to things like unemployment and school finance and Child Protective Services and...

Loomie - I hardly qualify as a local, and Del Rio ain't exactly a close suburb of San Antonio, but even I went to enough Cowboy Breakfast events in the mid-90's to understand why that was unacceptable to the point of lunacy!

I just stepped out onto the back deck (well, there's only one, and it's located to the rear of the house) to have a smoke, and noticed a diaphanous cloud hovering over my neighbor's holly bush. At first, I thought that it was God trying to save me from my apostate ways, but it turns out to be... tiny flying critters. Gnats? A new crop of mosquitos? Whatever, it's obviously been a pretty mild winter here in the vicinity of the nation's capital.

Not offended one bit, just the joke threw me terribly, and I responded the way I usually do, all heart and no brain. I speak my mind here, so should everyone else, and I try very hard not offend. If I do, I will certainly apologize.

Veering way off topic here - but I saw this:http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2006/01/27/AR2006012701882.html

Nani (and any other horse lovers lurking out there), the last time I went to the movies I saw previews of these horsey Animal Planet shows, and I've been meaning to tell you. Hope you have cable TV. I used to delete Animal Planet from my cable lineup so that I wouldn't have to surf past "snake TV" - but apparently it's changing...

Now back to your regularly scheduled boodle, brought to you by Carbucks...

The top climate scientist at NASA says the Bush administration has tried to stop him from speaking out since he gave a lecture last month calling for prompt reductions in emissions of greenhouse gases linked to global warming.

Thanks Linda for the link to the article about speaking out about global warming. That really gives one pause. Let's hope Dr. Hansen keeps speaking out.

I am looking forward to my cup of coffee in the morning. Perhaps I can find some beans that won't precipitate more global warming.

Loved the story about the gravy at the Cowboy Breakfast, LL. Around here, biscuits and gravy is a favorite Sunday breakfast and people search for the best resturant providing it.

My mother used to make coffee in a pot on the stove with a bit of raw egg and sometimes shell, grounds, and water all "boiled" together. It's still made that way at a "shore lunch" when fishing. It pours out clear after the grounds settle when boiling is finished.

Newly named ABC News World News Tonight anchorman Bob Woodruff at this hour still in serious condition and still in surgery at an Iraqi air base (Bagram?).

(You'd think the abcnews.com website would have the decency to drop the Wal-Mart and Nexium ads that run on their two web pages that report/tell the story.)

Jan. 29, 2006-- A statement from ABC New President David Westin: "Bob Woodruff and his cameraman Doug Vogt were injured in an IED attack near Taji, Iraq today. They were embedded with the 4th Infantry Division, traveling with an Iraqi Army unit in an Iraqi mechanized vehicle. Bob and Doug are in serious condition and are being treated at a U.S. military hospital in Iraq. ABC News will provide updates on their condition as they become available."

http://abcnews.go.com/WNT/story?id=1553921

He wants the anchors [Bob Woodruff and Elizabeth Vargas] constantly deployed in the field, which would play to their strengths as young and attractive interviewers rather than outsize personalities.

Lol, I was wondering how many posts it would take for someone to go off on Bush. I love people's inability to stay on topic based on their Bush-hatred, it truly would make a funny SNL stand-up.

Anyway, the best cup of coffee I ever had was oddly enough in Charleston, SC. I think it was grown locally, but I'm not sure. I'm traveling to Costa Rica next week on vacation so I'm hoping to get some good coffee and bannanas as well :).

I decided to take my own advice and read The Ruins of California together with The Glass Castle.

Well. My local bookstore, Waldenbooks, informed me that their franchise is not stocking The Ruins and has no plans to do so. So I'll have to order it from Amazon (easy enough). They had The Glass Castle, though, and I have to tell you all, fellow kaboodlers, and Joel, too: this is a book that is worth the time it takes to read it. First of all, it's a fast read: I bought it yesterday and finished it this morning. And second, it's an amazing portrait of a unique family. Jeannette Walls manages to strike an unbelievably precarious balance between brutal truth and sentiment--she's not afraid to tell the truth about the squalor of her upbringing and she's also not ashamed to admit her attachment to her parents. She doesn't cover for them but she also doesn't whine about what they did to her and her siblings. It's quite a tightrope act. I don't want to give examples because she tells every story so much better than I could. I would just strongly recommend The Glass Castle to anyone who is interested in the issues of bohemian parenting that we were talking about. It's also a good book to use to frame the discussion of A Million Little Pieces, the difference between fiction and biography and memoir. Since a lot of what happens in the book took place when Walls was very young (she claims to remember her life at age 3) I have to assume that a lot of the details are not precisely accurate. But if she made it all up, then she should get a prize for fiction writing. I cannot believe anyone has the imagination to create that family from scratch. In tone, the book strongly resembles Angela's Ashes, but the story is less conventional. Walls is a good writer with an amazing story to tell.

Woodruff in undergoing surgery in Balad, not Bagram. ABC News reports that Woodruff and his Canadian cameraman Vogt were wearing body armor, helmets and ballistic glasses.

The San Antonio has a new public editor/ombudsman, Bob Richter, with whom I spoke just days ago. Richter, a former reporter/editor, has been on the job but one month, and today's column is just his fourth writing effort since he's been in his new post.

Richter's article doesn't mention Woodward but is quite prescient, since its title is "Some reporters are putting their lives on the line to get the news." The piece deals primarliy with reporters covering the dangerous and violent drug trade on the U.S. (Texas)-Mexico border, but also mentions a local reporter who's embedded (hate that word) with troops in the Iraq conflict (which raises all sorts of issues about objectivity/subjectivity and little picture/big picture).

Since the issue is so topical this morning with the news of the ABC News team's injuries and medical treatment, I'm providing the link to Richter's column today:

Coffee is not my cup of tea, but the best B&G (biscuits and gravy) I ever had were at a little place called Annie's Cafe in Cedar Key, Florida -those are the keys between Tallahassee and Tampa on the other west coast. On the road, the fff (fast food franchise) Hardee's has a pedestrian version of this pedestrian, but wonderful, food.

I think LindaLoo might have overstayed her time in San Antone--she's starting to drop her "g" endings, and using figures of speech like "couldn't ride a charleyhorse" and "madder than fogged fire ants." A California girl's mind is such a terrible thing to waste. So sad.

(Enjoyed the story, though.)

As for bc, I'm having difficulty imagaining him on his porch reading the WaPo and looking at Sugarloaf Mountain, in the nude, since it was about 35 degrees this morning. bc never struck me as a ... er...shrinking violet...before this. Muy macho (as LindaLoo might say, down there on the Pedernales)!

Reader, I hadn't heard of Jeannette Walls till the other night when Larry King had her on to discuss James Frey (the evening of Oprah's turnabout). She was very upset that people would now question whether all memoirs were fiction. She also said that she didn't think she could write fiction...

Carol Radziwill was on the show too. I read her memoir, What Remains, and liked it a lot. It's written in a interesting, non-linear style, and is very honest and revealing - and I cried through the last pages. Seems like I'm easily brought to tears, but I'm not, usually. On Larry King, she made the point of distinguishing "truth" which is subjective, with "facts" which are objective. she's working on a novel now, and says it is much harder than non-fiction.

The 'fictive memoir' I remember best is "Manchild in the Promised Land" by Claude Brown. Reading that in high school was a stunning revelation into the life in Harlem. I know he changed names, but I don't recall how much he fudged specific facts. Regardless, the overwhelming force of the story he told could only make one marvel that anyone could survive the situation. And he was not only able to survive but go on to succeed in life and in telling his tale.

I was looking at ABC news one night, and Woodruff was talking about a shop that sold ice cream. He was eating ice cream, and I thought, what if something happens to him because this is such a dangerous place, but I put it out of my mind. Never thought about it again until I read the story in the Post a few minutes ago. How anyone can think we're winning in this place is beyond me.

Just three days ago, bad news locally for San Antonio from near Taji, the same area in Iraq (roughly 12 miles north of Baghdad) where ABC News co-anchor Woodruff and cameraman Vogt were seriously injured early today...

Brian McElroy stayed under the radar, whether as a Churchill High School senior a decade ago or an Air Force noncommissioned officer known for his quick mind and wit.

But that habitual low profile wasn't enough this week. Insurgents detonated a roadside bomb near Taji, a hotbed of the guerrilla war in Iraq, killing McElroy and Tech. Sgt. Jason L. Norton, 32, of Miami, Okla.

"The mood is hot and cold," said Chief Master Sgt. William Watson, senior enlisted manager of the 3rd Security Forces Squadron at Elmendorf AFB in Anchorage, Alaska, where the men were stationed. He said he goes from "moments of focused lucidity" to emotional turmoil, adding, "When I first I heard, I went to my knees. It hurt. And it's all varying emotions in between."

A staff sergeant, McElroy, 28, of San Antonio and Norton had been in Iraq about three months. Their deaths Sunday made them the 10th and 11th airmen to die in Iraq since the invasion, and among four to perish since the Air Force began providing troops for convoy escort duty 11/2 years ago.

The Woodruff story is certainly being carefully controlled by ABC News...

"I spoke with both of them," [said Kate] Felsen [who had been working with Woodruff for the past two weeks] continued. "Doug was conscious, and I was able to reassure him we were getting them care. I spoke to Bob also and walked with them to the helicopter."

http://abcnews.go.com/WNT/IraqCoverage/story?id=1553996&page=1

Did Felsen speak with them or *to* them? If Vogt was conscious, does that mean that Woodruff was unconscious? Why did it take a number of hours before ABC released the news that Woodruff had also received wounds to his upper torso? [I do understand the issue of pending notification of family and possibly flying Lee Woodruff to Bob's bedside in Landstuhl, Germany, plus stablizing the patient.] Walked with them to the helicopter...I assume this means that Felsen accompanied both of her injured co-workers to the helicopter and that both men were either on guerneys or stretchers?

Givn this story about the injuries sustained in Iraq to a major network (co-)anchor and the intense spotlight it will focus on the Iraq conflict, it will be interesting to see if President Bush mentions Iraq in his State of the Union address on Tuesday, what he'll say, what he'll say that's meaningful, and how long he'll stay on the topic of the Iraq war.

Subject to even wider speculation, I would think, is whether Bush will mention Osama bin Laden in his televised address Tuesday night--or not.

Perhaps without realizing it, Sig Christenson's feature story--about how the federal government is not picking up the tab for a rehabilitation center for U.S. soldiers who have suffered the most serious injuries in Iraq and Afhanistan--asks more questions than it answers.

This local story that ran front-page in today's San Antonio Express-News is truly a national one. The reporting by this military writer who was at one time embedded with U.S. forces in Iraq is full of facts. But as I mentioned, the writer's full report raises many difficult questions.

A rehabilitation center for amputees and other wounded soldiers that's rising near Brooke Army Medical Center comes with a virtual-reality roller coaster, a $37 million price tag and a question: Why isn't the federal government paying for any of it?

Instead, the four-story building is being paid for entirely by private donations, prompting some to ask why the government isn't meeting its obligations to those wounded in the war in Iraq -- a war that has returned home amputees at twice the rate of Vietnam.

When it opens at Fort Sam Houston in a year, the Center for the Intrepid will provide what may be the best rehabilitative care medicine can offer to troops who have lost limbs or suffered severe burns, blindness and head injuries on the battlefields of Iraq and Afghanistan.

Supporters see the project led by millionaire New York real estate developer Arnold Fisher as a way to give back to the troops. They say it will be an architectural and medical gem in Fort Sam's crown, equal to the world's finest rehab centers.

But retired combat commanders, veterans and even some Intrepid center donors ask why Washington has left the center's construction to a private charity.

Is it possible (one asks oneself) that both laudably generous AND venally selfish impulses are in play here?

Call me a stupid, old-school M..F.. here, if you must, but I've noticed that whenever a really impressive pile of money is tossed on the table, the motivations tend to be quantitatively and qualitatively mixed. Simple answers to things are beautiful when available, but sometimes they just ain't! (Available, I mean.)

My then teenage son, Joey ("Mom, I'm in my 40s, it's JOE now) made the most perfect cup of coffee ever. Just Folgers, percolated in the old silver tin coffee pot with the clear glass thingamajig on top until the aroma and color was just so, then mixed in the Pet evaporated milk turning it a lovely shade of gold. Pleasing to the eye **and** the palate.

mostlylurking, I saw a political cartoon on the internet Sunday, Bush being bucked off his horse. Poetic justice!

The perfect cup of coffee comes from WaWa, in a 20 oz. cup, with 1 inch of Half-and-half (poured in first) and two Splendas. If it must be consumed immediately, one made add one (but only one) ice cube from the drink stand. (Alas, due to doctor's orders, it must be decaf, but certain persons have been known to cheat, and do a 50-50 mix. I won't mention any names.)

Ahh, coffee. The very first cup of coffee I ever had was when catering in a small town hotel restaurant I worked in with along with my mom and several other ladies. I could not get to the soda machine, and coffee was all that was available. So my first cup was strong, and black. Still is. Early morning sunlight, coffee and a good book is the recipe for a perfect day.

And even before last week's gravy hullabaloo, San Antonio's Cowboy Breakfast, served for free, had its own difficulties in becoming the world's largest cooked breakfast.

But what began as a small send-off for trail riders a week before the San Antonio Stock Show & Rodeo grew into a huge event, with live music, revelry and cow chip-tossing. ...

In the late 1990s, organizers set their sights on the Guinness Book of World Records, hoping to set a mark for the largest breakfast. They had to devise a way to count servings in one hour and document the record.

At the time, the record for the largest free breakfast was set in 1998, when the Kellogg company served cereal and milk to 13,797 people in Dubai, United Arab Emirates. ... [How did this come about...in Dubai?]

Other breakfasts have claimed to be the largest, unofficially.

Springfield, Mass., has its "World's Largest Pancake Breakfast," at which some 40,000 people wolfed down more than 71,000 pancakes in 1999.

And many of the 400,000 people who gathered in 1969 in Bethel, N.Y., for the rock and folk music festival known as Woodstock are said to have eaten a modest breakfast of cooked oats or wheat, mixed with peanuts.

Before you can drink the perfect cup of coffee, you must gag down many cups of garbage.
Then you will achieve a symbiosis with caffeine and gut-altering compounds to truly crave coffee.
Only then will your tastebuds be dead enough to think any coffee is good, and your mind in a state of mind to appreciate the fact of coffee.

I also had the opportunity to view and handle the remains of military rounds (including AP rounds) that had been fired into Pinnacle Armor Inc.'s SOV-1000 and SOV-2000 Level III and Level IV "Dragon Skin" vests, and was just blown away. The Pinnacle Armor vests reduced these rounds to shrapnel. I've never seen anything like it. When you see tungsten and tungsten carbide-core rounds obliterated like these rounds were, you just have to shake your head and laugh.

Only it's not funny. It's actually incredibly important, because these Pinnacle Armor Inc. vests can really save lives. I sincerely hope that all of our troops engaged in urban warfare in Afghanistan and Iraq end up acquiring Pinnacle Armor Inc. SOV/Dragon Skin vests. They need them--right now. Unfortunately, the reality is that most of them probably will never get them. Pinnacle Armor Inc. body armor costs more money than the old tech, and when it comes to equipping our infantry soldiers and Marines, money is always an issue. It's also unfortunate that on the law enforcement front, most state and local police department and sheriff's departments have never even heard of Pinnacle Armor Inc. body armor, so their SWAT/SRT teams are still running around with old tech (i.e. standard NIJ Level IIIa hard armor, or possibly Level IV hard armor ballistic ceramic panel inserts, which are thick, heavy, and brittle) made by a number of big-name body armor/ballistic vest manufacturers. This is unfortunate.

You may blog o' sin and methane
When you're boodling safe out 'here,
An' your kits are out of control,
But if it comes to slaughter
You'll type your blogs like yer ought'er
An' you'll miss the cowboy's gravy what's not in the bowl.

Now in D.C.'s sunny clime,
Where I now spend all my time,
A-servin' of a governmental agency
Of all them pencil-neck-ed geeks
And pencil-pushin' freaks
Was a lowly copy editor, Gunga 'Mudge.

It was "Mudge! Mudge! Mudge!"
You're reading Kurtz and Drudge
Instead of givin' verbs a nudge,
An' writin' poems, you old Gunga Mudge.

'E would dot each lowly i,
To make the time go by,
An' 'e didn't seem to know the use 'o adjectives.
If we wrote a reg'alation impenetrable and dense,
'E'd be scrathin' out our verbiage with a grin.
An' fix our syntax with his ball-point pen.

It was "Mudge! Mudge! Mudge!"
With the memos kickin' dust-spots on the floor.
When the ink cartridges ran out,
You could hear the IT people shout,
"Hey! Get another Canon 92A laser cartridge, won't cha, Gunga Mudge!"

I sha'n't forget the night
When my writin' wasn't tight,
An' I had a bullet where a check mark shoulda been.
I was chokin' mad with thirst,
An' the man who fixed it first
Was our good old whining, carping Gunga Mudge.

'E boldfaced up my 'ead,
An' 'e paragraphed me 'lede,
An' he guv me 'arf-a-pint o' java from the Mr. Coffee pot.
It was cold and had no creamer,
Looked like it was drained from the radiator of Joel's Beemer,
The perfect cup of coffee, brought by lowly Gunga Mudge.

It was "Mudge! Mudge! Mudge!
'Ere's a memo with no bullets in its text;
Ain't got no pull-out quotes, and no punchy anecdotes,
For Gawd's sake, git the thesaurus, Gunga Mudge!"

'E edited away
Until the break of day,
Put a bullet front of every pithy point.
Then made a pot of brew
Coffee thick as hunter's stew:
"I 'ope you likes your Carbucks," sez Gunga Mudge.

So I'll meet him later today
At the WaWa in Mandalay,
Where it's always decaf, might as well be drinkin' sludge;
'E'll be editin' 'is reports,
An' posting clever retorts,
Another day in Hell for Gunga Mudge.

Nani, that reminds me of the "All Night Strut," a musical revue of the 1930s/40s. I saw it countless times when it was at the Strand Theatre in Pontiac, MI (my brother did sound there at the time) and then once at the Gem Theatre in Detroit (just before the theatre was relocated in 1997 - the heaviest building ever moved!). If you haven't heard it, it's great. I bought the CD at one of the shows, but it's available through Amazon too, I was surprised to find. My 7 year old loves it. She knew all the words to "Minnie the Moocher" when she was 5. She obviously had a different understanding of what "kick the gong around" meant. Anyway, it has a fun version of "Java Jive" on it.

The LoneMule will say this "STINKS", but I gotta post this old Ink Spots tune: (hit it, boys!)
Java Jive - The Ink Spots
I love coffee, I love tea
I love the java jive and it loves me
Coffee and tea and the jivin' and me
A cup, a cup, a cup, a cup, a cup!
I love java, sweet and hot
Whoops! Mr. Moto, I'm a coffee pot
Shoot me the pot and I'll pour me a shot
A cup, a cup, a cup, a cup, a cup!
Oh, slip me a slug from the wonderful mug
And I cut a rug till I'm snug in a jug
A slice of onion and a raw one, draw one.
Waiter, waiter, percolator!
I love coffee, I love tea
I love the java jive and it loves me
Coffee and tea and the jivin' and me
A cup, a cup, a cup, a cup, a cup!
Boston bean, soy bean
Lima bean, string bean.
You know that I'm not keen for a bean
Unless it is a cheery coffee bean.
I love coffee, I love tea
I love the java jive and it loves me
Coffee and tea and the jivin' and me
A cup, a cup, a cup, a cup, a cup!
YEEAAHHHHH................
Posted by: Nani | Jan 30, 2006 12:13:41 PM